An intuition now appeared to possess all the party, that, for this time, at least, there was no more to be said.  With one accord, we arose from the ground, and made our way through the tangled undergrowth towards one of those pleasant wood-paths that wound among the overarching trees.  Some of the branches hung so low as partly to conceal the figures that went before from those who followed.  Priscilla had leaped up more lightly than the rest of us, and ran along in advance, with as much airy activity of spirit as was typified in the motion of a bird, which chanced to be flitting from tree to tree, in the same direction as herself.  Never did she seem so happy as that afternoon.  She skipt, and could not help it, from very playfulness of heart.

Zenobia and Hollingsworth went next, in close contiguity, but not with arm in arm.  Now, just when they had passed the impending bough of a birch-tree, I plainly saw Zenobia take the hand of Hollingsworth in both her own, press it to her bosom, and let it fall again!

The gesture was sudden, and full of passion; the impulse had evidently taken her by surprise; it expressed all!  Had Zenobia knelt before him, or flung herself upon his breast, and gasped out, “I love you, Hollingsworth!” I could not have been more certain of what it meant.  They then walked onward, as before.  But, methought, as the declining sun threw Zenobia’s magnified shadow along the path, I beheld it tremulous; and the delicate stem of the flower which she wore in her hair was likewise responsive to her agitation.

Priscilla—­through the medium of her eyes, at least could not possibly have been aware of the gesture above described.  Yet, at that instant, I saw her droop.  The buoyancy, which just before had been so bird-like, was utterly departed; the life seemed to pass out of her, and even the substance of her figure to grow thin and gray.  I almost imagined her a shadow, tiding gradually into the dimness of the wood.  Her pace became so slow that Hollingsworth and Zenobia passed by, and I, without hastening my footsteps, overtook her.

“Come, Priscilla,” said I, looking her intently in the face, which was very pale and sorrowful, “we must make haste after our friends.  Do you feel suddenly ill?  A moment ago, you flitted along so lightly that I was comparing you to a bird.  Now, on the contrary, it is as if you had a heavy heart, and a very little strength to bear it with.  Pray take my arm!”

“No,” said Priscilla, “I do not think it would help me.  It is my heart, as you say, that makes me heavy; and I know not why.  Just now, I felt very happy.”

No doubt it was a kind of sacrilege in me to attempt to come within her maidenly mystery; but, as she appeared to be tossed aside by her other friends, or carelessly let fall, like a flower which they had done with, I could not resist the impulse to take just one peep beneath her folded petals.